Battle
by Ice Dagger
Summary: Haven City is still at war, ans Torn calls Sig for help. Sig's ward, Zaacha, joins in the fight to prove herself to the new ruler of Spargus. With battles abound, will she become the Wastelander she longs to be, or die trying? Disclaimed
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Shalom and welcome, dear friends. At last, I have released another fic! (Not so excited cheers from the captive audience). This Jak fic has been in-progress for a while, so I hope you like it. As always, much love to my beta – Aries28, you rock my socks! The little purple button at the very bottom of the page really does work, so you should press it and leave me a nice little review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read now.

The familiar burning sensation of an Ottsel Fury _(1)_ gripped the Wastelander's throat, surprisingly soothing his frazzled nerves. Since Damas was gone, he had taken rule of Spargus City. And that job getting old very fast. Sandstorm season had rolled around again, complete with winds that relentlessly pounded at the city gates, and dust that spilled over the tops of the walls. He took another sip of his drink, chancing a glance around the Naughty Ottsel. It had remained basically unchanged. Except all the tables in the center had been taken out for the Freedom League's equipment. He set down his glass on the bar top and leaned over the map Torn had laid out on the holoscreen _(2)_. "So, what does this have to do with us exactly?"

The faction leader ran a hand through his brown hair, sighing. "Look Sig, we need you and your Wastelanders to come in and help us defend the city from the Metalheads and the KG Robots. They're becoming bolder and bolder each day; we can't hold them off much longer. Freedom League forces are dropping like flies out there, even though we're just defending our two sectors. We need back up."

Sig raised the eyebrow over his mechanical eye, crossing his arms over his armored chest. "Why would we help the city that kicked us out? We have our own problems to deal with out in the desert, you know."

Torn paused, finding the table very interesting. "We can pay you." He reluctantly told the Wastelander.

"Oh, come on big guy; I know you're itching to kill some metal heads with these army buffs." Daxter's orange fur flashed in the bar lighting as he hopped from stool to stool, eventually making it to the bar top. He plopped down next to Sig, sniffing the Ottsel Fury delicately.

Sig pulled his glass away from Daxter and picked it up, draining the last of it in a single swig. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he eyed Torn. ". . . How much money are we talking about, cherry?"

Daxter grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. "That's my boy! I knew the sound of a good Metalhead hunt would get you to agree. I've been on a few of those myself, you know. Why, when I was out in the desert with Jak-"

Sig rolled his eyes, wishing he hadn't downed his Ottsel Fury so fast.

The bar door slid open, saving Torn and Sig from an impossibly long and totally bogus story. "Hey Sig, I just got a call from Kleiver. I need to get back to Spargus. Are you almost done in here?"

Daxter looked over at the newcomer and whistled. "Come on in, sweetheart." He called to her, tail wagging excitedly. Leaning closer to Sig, he whispered, "Dude, who's the new chick? Can't possibly be your girlfriend or anything; she's way too hot."

Sig shot the ottsel an icy glance. "Easy now chili pepper, don't want to get Tess all riled up." Thankfully, the blonde was not in the bar to beat the living daylights out of Daxter for looking at another woman.

The girl moved a stray navy curl from her gray eyes, a smile plucking at the corners of her thin lips. "We're not dating. I'm Zaacha." She offered, stepping away from the door and closer to the men, and the ottsel. Placing a hand on her hip, she looked over at Sig. "So, you ready or what?"

"Hold your Leapers, blueberry." He muttered.

Daxter took hold of Sig's empty glass, glancing up at him while he eased it into the sink on the other side of the bar. "What is your strange obsession with food? Can't you be more original?"

Sig sent him another icy look. "Chili pepper, I could always use another throw rug. Want to volunteer?" Daxter gulped and ducked behind the counter, mumbling something about fixing a bottle of Haven Port _(3) _for some incoming paying customers. The Wastelander stood and nodded to Torn. "I'll be in touch. Let's go, Zaacha." His armored shoes clanked against the floor as he walked out the bar door, the girl in tow.

Smog-infested air filled Sig's lungs as he came out of the Naughty Ottsel. This city may be where he was born, but it sure wasn't home. Truth be told, he was glad Zaacha had come in when she had. Haven City just wasn't as exciting as it had been when he was undercover for Damas. The walls seemed to close in around him, trying to strangle him, cage him in. The Wastelander was jerked from his thoughts as Zaacha nudged him with her shoulder. "What were you guys talking about?"

"They want help defending the city." Sig admitted, walking closer to the edge of the walkway, watching the zoomers fly by on the oily water's surface.

"And what'd you say?"

"I said I'd consider it."

He carefully watched Zaacha's reflection in the water. Her lips were pursed, eyes narrowed. She may not have been kicked out of they city like him, but she hated the walled city as much as any other Spargus citizen. Maybe that was why Sig looked after her. Or maybe it was because he felt sorry for her. Considering her family was the way it was, anyone would feel sorry for the girl.

"Hey, Spargus to Sig." He blinked. Zaacha was waving a hand in front of his face. Apparently he had been lost in thought again. "Come on. The transport is going to leave soon. And it's a long ride back to the desert."

Sig nodded and looked away from the polluted water, keeping his eyes on the path ahead of him. "Let's go then."

They walked for a few minutes, silence only disrupted by the sound of buzzing zoomer engines as the whizzed by. "Are you ok?" The girl asked, disrupting the pseudo-silence again.

Sig looked back at Zaacha. Her lips were turned down at the corners, her forehead wrinkled with worry. Despite the unfriendly setting, Sig found himself smiling. He put a hand on her head, ruffling her hair. "I'm fine, blueberry. Don't worry."

Zaacha ducked out from under his hand, glaring at him. "Sig, now you messed up my hair." She whined, running a hand through her indigo locks. He chuckled and shook his head, letting his hand drop to his side. Her glare softened, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Hey Sig . . . I'll race you to the transport!" She yelled, taking off down the bridge over the dirty port water.

"Hey! You cheated!" He called after her, taking off, armor jangling with each step.

Ducking under arms – or in Sig's case, trying to but actually just bowling people over – the pair finally crossed the unofficial finish line, the ramp into the blue transport. Sig bent over, panting. "No fair. You got a head start."

Zaacha lifted her head, chest heaving for air. "Whatever it takes, right?"

"Looks like I trained you well, blueberry." Sig laughed, hitting the glowing Close Hatch button before plopping down onto one of the benches.

Zaacha fall back onto the bench next to him, as the engine roared to life and shook the floor beneath their feet as the transport bucked, taking off to the desert.

The panting eventually died down, leaving only the buzz of the engine breaking the ever-pressing silence. Zaacha looked down at the floor, shuffling her feet against the cold metal. "My father came by yesterday."

Sig looked up in surprise. "Your dad? What did he want?"

"He asked me to move back in with him." She replied, not lifting her eyes.

"Do you . . . want to?"

She shook her head furiously, hair whipping out around her. "No." Not that anyone could blame her for not wanting to go with her father. He was the reason Sig was looking out for Zaacha, and the reason she was born in Spargus.

Zaacha's father, Pallecht, was always eager to make some quick and easy money. Gambling rings, illegal street races, gun course records, anything that could put some spending money in his pocket. Unfortunately, that would be his downfall. An illegal zoomer race that ended in a fatal crash and the death of a Council Member's _(4)_ son, and the banishment of Zaacha's parents.

It was all right at first, Pallecht and his pregnant wife were shown the ropes of the city, taught the ways of the Spargan, eagerly accepted by the citizens of the desert city. A few months after they couple "moved" into Spargus, his first and only child, Zaacha, was born and became the city sweetheart. The curious, energetic, and eager to please child quickly wormed her way into even the hardest warrior's heart. The family seemed happy, and everything seemed to be looking up for the gambler and his new family. But the years of desert heat began to take theirs toll on Pallecht, making him irritable and violent. Even Wastelanders would steer clear of the man, casting sorrowful glances at his wife and six year old child, who now walked his shadow, cowering in fear.

But cowering didn't save them.

A cloudless sky reflected the gambler's wife lying in the streets, blood splayed around her, not even the hot noon sun warming her dead body. Pallecht was not punished; no one could prove it was he who killed the woman. But the child was taken from him, and entrusted to Damas' best Wastelander, Sig, to care for.

At first it was a hassle, but Sig grew to care for the girl like a little sister, carefully watching her as she learned how to handle a gun, how to drive Kleiver's strange desert cars, how to race Leaper Lizards, the basic controls of the turret _(5)_, and other such things that every Spargus citizen should know.

Shaking himself out of his own thoughts, Sig threw an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, blueberry. You don't have to go with him. Damas told me to keep you with me until you could live on your own. Your dad doesn't have any right to take you if you don't want to go."

Zaacha sighed and leaned onto his shoulder, resting her forehead on the edge of his shoulder pad, the cool metal pressing against her warm skin. "Thanks, Sig."

He smiled. "No problem." The transport jerked, the engine suddenly becoming silent. "Guess we're here." Sig gave her a one-armed hug and stood, pressing the Open Hatch button. The hot desert sands swept into the transport, wrapping around Sig's ankles, tugging at his tattered, pointed ears. "Home sweet home." He looked over his shoulder at Zaacha. "Come on. We'd better get inside the gates before the Marauders see us."

_1_ : A made up alcoholic beverage served at The Naughty Ottsel.

_2_ : The blue table that Torn is standing over in The Naughty Ottsel.

_3 _: A made up alcoholic beverage served at The Naughty Ottsel.

_4_ : Advisors to the ruler of Haven City. Count Veeger is a Council Member until stripped of his title.

_5_ : The gun on the beach, by the marketplace of Spargus City.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Shalom and welcome, dear friends. Shout outs to **Bandit-sama**, **Aries28**, and **Silver Horror**.As always, much love to my beta – Aries28, you rock my socks! The little purple button at the very bottom of the page really does work, so you should press it and leave me a nice little review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read now.

"So, how did ya like the Big Smoke?_(1)_"

Zaacha clenched her teeth as her wrench cranked under the buggy, tightening all of the gizmos and gadgets strung together underneath the Tough Puppy _(2)_. "It's horrible." She griped, crawling out from under the vehicle. "I don't know how anyone can stand to live there, let alone try to stay inside. It's crowded, it's dark, it's cold, and it's dirty." Zaacha spat venomously, grabbing a rough towel to wipe off her grimy, greasy hands.

Kleiver chuckled, his stomach jiggling. "Speaking of dirt, ya've got some oil on your chin." Blinking, Zaacha touched a newly cleaned finger to her chin, finding the splotch of black that marred her lightly tanned skin. She lifted a somewhat clean corner of the towel to her face, glad she decided to tie her hair back before working on this project. The big mechanic stood over her, his wide shadow falling over her shoulders as she scrubbed at her face. "I don't really understand it meself. But when I was banished, I thought the world was coming to an end. It's those walls, I guess. They make ya think there's no living outside the city. It scares ya into obeying the laws they've got in there. Pretty nasty way of going about it, but it works well enough."

The girl sighed and looked up at Kleiver, the back of her head resting on his knees. "I guess so . . . but I still don't like it."

Kleiver chuckled, running a large hand over the scars her received when he first was first sent to the desert. "Yeah, I don't suppose ya would. You don't even like having a curfew."

Zaacha laughed, tossing her towel onto the hood of the dune buggy while "accidentally" elbowing Kleiver in the leg. "Just don't tell Sig I break it every Thursday, or he'd never forgive me."

Kleiver smiled and shook his head. "He's going to find out about you racing; just wait and see. One of these days, bam! No more racing for you." He commented, shaking a fat finger at her.

Zaacha shrugged and climbed behind the wheel of the Tough Puppy, twisting it back and forth, testing the tires and respond time. "Maybe so, but he doesn't know yet. Which means I'm safe for tonight at least." She flipped the key, listening to the engine purr beneath the hood. "All right. That will do it." She turned the vehicle off and leaned on the wheel, looking at Kleiver through the opening that served as the "windshield". "She's all fixed. But tell Saeth to be more careful next time, ok? I can't keep fixing this little thing up; she won't take many more crashes before she dies. Then we'd have to start all over again."

"Ya know I can't tell the kid anything. He never listens to anyone." Kleiver rolled his eyes, bending down to pick up an old broken part Zaacha had taken out from under the dune buggy.

Zaacha snickered and pulled the tie out of her cerulean curls, letting them fall onto her shoulders and tickle her face. "He sure is stubborn one."

"Almost as stubborn as you." Kleiver grumbled.

The girl ignored the mechanic, leaning to rest her cheek on the warm metal of the steering wheel. "But he's got promise for a good Wastelander. I wish Sig would let me join up."

The big man shrugged, resting one hand on his hip, fiddling with the bottom ring of leather that held up his skirt. "He just doesn't want ya out there in the middle of those blasted sandstorms. It's dangerous, ya know."

She jumped out of the dune buggy, shaking her head. "I can handle myself just as well as any of the guys out there right now. If Sig would just give me a chance, I could prove it, too."

Kleiver shook his head, his blonde mullet swaying with the movement of his head. Personally, he couldn't blame Sig for not letting Zaacha become a Wastelander. If Kleiver had been left in charge of her, he wouldn't consider allowing her to be one, either. It almost gave the mechanic a heart attack when she drove in her first off road _(3) _race. Thank the Precursors Sig never found out that Kleiver was letting her race, or the blonde's head would be rolling through the Spargus streets.

While Sig had been undercover in Haven City, Kleiver had been left in charge of the growing girl. He didn't know how to tell her she couldn't race, so he just let her have her way. That was almost the biggest mistake of his life. While Zaacha had come out victorious, Kleiver almost died every time she came close to hitting a wall, or cut a corner too sharp. Which reminded him; it was Thursday again. Another race was going to start tonight, two hours after sundown, Zaacha's curfew. Kleiver sighed. One more gray hair to add to the rapidly growing collection.

The sharp clank of the garage door opening brought Kleiver back from Memory Lane. He turned to face the door, not entirely happy with whom he saw. Dark azure hair blended almost perfectly with the dull gray metal of the door, hanging in a shaggy mess over piercing, chilly brown eyes. "Kleiver." A gruff voice hailed coldly, head bobbing in a small nod of acknowledgment.

Kleiver scowled, crossing his arms. "What do ya want here, Pallecht?"

The man looked over the mechanic's shoulder, nearly having to stand on his tiptoes to do so. "I came to talk to Zaacha." Behind Kleiver, Zaacha stood perfectly still, her gray eyes wide with a glint of panic shimmering in their depths. Pallecht looked the girl up and down with an appraising eye, his lips turned down in a frown. "What are you wearing?" He asked, taking note of the tight sand brown shirt that showed off her toned stomach, strapped up to her shoulders with a twin set of white strips, snug olive shorts were tightened at her hips with a thin white belt.

Kleiver moved, pushing Zaacha protectively behind him. "Either ya've got business to do with me, or ya get out of my garage."

Pallecht's eyes got even colder as he looked up at the mechanic. "This is none of your concern. Stay out of this."

"Make me."

Pallecht stepped closer, his boot grinding the sand. Zaacha started to shake, her mother's screams echoing in her head, growing louder and louder with each passing second. She slowly glided closer to Kleiver, hiding her face in the back of his shirt with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. The mechanic stood up taller, completely blocking the girl from view with his bulk, his eyes boring down into Palecht, daring him to take another step closer.

Nobody noticed the doors slide open again.

"What's going on here?"

Zaacha's eyes popped open, the familiar voice blocking out the screams that echoed in her ears. She cautiously peered over Kleiver's shoulder, her hands still balled in the small of his back. Sig stepped farther into the garage, surveying the scene before him with an angry eye.

Pallecht turned and lifted his head to look Sig in the eye. "I'm trying to talk to my daughter." He explained coolly, emphasizing "my".

Sig glared down at the man, an eyebrow twitching with aggravation. "Sorry, but she doesn't have time to talk right now." He pushed Pallecht out of his way and walked up to Kleiver. "Thanks." He muttered to the mechanic under his breath as he grabbed Zaacha's arm, pulling her to him.

"Don't mention it." Kleiver whispered back, his lips barely moving under his bristling mustache, his eyes never moving from Pallecht's face.

Pallecht growled. "I have the right."

Sig turned, holding Zaacha to his side protectively. "No, you don't. Come near her again, and your head will be a trophy on my wall."

The man scowled, but did not press his luck with the battle-scarred warrior. Casting one last icy glance at the three before him, he spun on his heel and stormed out of the garage.

Sig sighed and rolled his shoulders, his arm still draped protectively over Zaacha's shoulder. "How long has he been coming around here?"

The navy haired girl looked down, shuffling the steel toe of her boot into the soft sand. "He doesn't come in, usually. He waits outside until I come out." She admitted softly, her eyes never leaving the ground.

"How long, Zaacha?"

"Only a week." She said, nonchalantly shrugging her shoulders.

Kleiver scoffed behind them, uncrossing his arms as he walked across the garage to start another project. "Try three."

Zaacha glowered at him out of the corner of her eye. "Oh, go fix your skirt."

Kleiver looked down at his attire and grumbled as he continued walking. "It's not a skirt, it's a kilt. There's a difference."

Sig's attention stayed focused on Pallecht's frequent visits. "Three weeks?" He looked down at the top of Zaacha's head, her curls blocking the rest of her face from view. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The girl looked up, her eyes meeting with Sig's. "I did tell you. I told you on the transport just today."

The Wastelander rolled his eye. "That's not what I mean, blueberry." Zaacha lowered her eyes again, nervously entwining her fingers. Sig sighed again; as much good as it did to make Zaacha tell him things like this, he hated seeing her so quiet and reserved. He pushed her gently with his shoulder. "Come on. Your leaper's been going crazy. It wants to go for a run."

Zaacha looked up with a small, playful glare in her eyes. "He, not it."

"Whatever."

1 : What Kleiver calls Haven City, first told to Jak after he earns his first battle amulet.

2 : The first dune buggy available in Kleiver's garage.

3 : The races just outside Spargus City with the Marauders.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Shalom and welcome, dear friends. Shout outs to **Bandit-sama**, **Aries28**, and **Silver Horror**.As always, much love to my beta – Aries28, you rock my socks! The little purple button at the very bottom of the page really does work, so you should press it and leave me a nice little review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read now.

The lizard raced over the tin line in the sand of the market street, gurgling in delight as a plump kangarat was tossed into his eagerly awaiting, open mouth. Munching happily, the leaper barely noticed as his rider slid off of his back, leaning against his heaving side as his mouth worked the no-longer screaming treat. Sig walked over, a small smirk on his face, wiping his hands on his pants, trying to rid them of the scaly feeling of the leaper's latest meal. Zaacha beamed up at him, eyes sparkling with excitement. "How'd we do?" She asked excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"One minute, forty three seconds." He announced proudly, holding up the timer in his hands to show her.

The grin slowly dissipated, turning into a disappointed scowl. "That won't do." She muttered, turning back to the leaper. "Ok Rica. We need to shave another ten seconds. Are you up to it?"

After swallowing the tail of his meal with a loud gulp, the leaper chirped and nuzzled the girl's bare stomach affectionately. Zaacha giggled as the scales rubbed her skin and pushed the lizard's scaly head away, rubbing gently behind his thin earflap _(1)_, earning a pleased purring sound. Sig blinked at the pair, watching Zaacha with her leaper. "I take it that means yes."

The girl rolled her eyes and snorted, as if the answer was obvious. "Of course." She hopped back up onto the lizard's back, settling herself comfortably into the rich red saddle, leaning so close to the lizard's neck that her collarbone rubbed against the smooth scales as Sig cleared the previous time from the watch screen. She grabbed the weatherworn reins tightly and nodded at Sig to start the countdown, eyes trained on the beaten path ahead of her.

"Three. Two. One. Go." He shouted, punching the stopwatch button.

The pair took off in a blur of sand, leaving a coughing Sig in their wake. "I hate that thing." The Wastelander mumbled, waving a large hand in front of his face. He watched as the dust slowly fluttered back down to the ground in a gentle shower, leaving the air as clean as possible for the desert. He remembered when that lizard was only about a foot tall, and much easier to handle. Damas had gotten it – him – for Zaacha on her twelfth birthday. It couldn't have been that long ago, could it? After all, Zaacha was only fourteen. No, fifteen. Wait, it was sixteen. Hold on, that was last year. She was seventeen now. Her birthday was just last month. Sig whistled softly, strolling back to his previous position by the alley. He ignored the concerned and angry chirps coming from the last kangarat held captive in the cage by the wall and rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck pleasantly. More than ten years since she came to live with him. There was no way it could have been that long. She was still the same little girl that clung to his hand as he took home with him the night Pallecht got away with murdering his wife; wasn't she?

"Hey Sig."

The Wastelander shook his head, realizing that he was lost in thought, again, and looked down the street, lifting an eyebrow at the figure racing towards him. "What's wrong, Saeth?" He asked as the boy neared, his ever-smirking lips and bright ocean blue eyes finally becoming more than just blurs of color on his face.

The boy slid to a stop in front of the big man, sending up another cloud of sand. "Do you know where Zaacha is?"

Sig coughed and pointed down the race path. "She's on her leaper right now; should be done in a few more seconds. Why?"

The boy brushed a mulberry strand of hair from his eyes, his infamous smirk still plastered on his face. "I have to talk to her."

The coo of Zaacha's lizard distracted Sig from asking any more questions as another dust cloud came ominously close. Sig groaned softly and clapped a hand over his mouth, plucking the last squirming kangarat from the cage at his feet. The leaper pushed across the line in the street, opening his mouth expectantly. Sig eagerly tossed the kicking rodent into the leaper's mouth, waiting for the dust to settle before removing his other hand from his mouth.

Zaacha slid off the lizard's back, sand sprinkling the top of her head and sticking to the tips of her eyelashes. "So? Did we make it?"

Sig looked down at the clock, suddenly very aware he forgot to click it off. He blinked. "Um, yeah. One minute . . . thirty three seconds."

The girl grinned. "Great." She leaned back against the lizard's side, patting his neck happily. "We did it, Rica. We'll win the next race for sure." She rambled excitedly as the lizard munched his meal happily, not paying attention to the girl at all. Saeth coughed, catching her attention. She blinked and nodded to the mauve haired boy, tilting her head curiously to one side. "Something wrong, Saeth?"

"Tonight's been called off." The boy told her, looking Zaacha straight in the eye, making Sig a little uncomfortable. Why was his gaze so intense? And what in the world was he talking about "tonight"? Sig shifted his weight to one foot, watching the pair closely, lest he miss something of the utmost importance.

Zaacha frowned, pushing herself off the lizard's side to walk closer to Saeth. "Called off? What for?"

Saeth shrugged, turning his eyes to the sky. "Apparently, there's another big sandstorm is coming, floating on the east wind."

"Really?" Zaacha's eyes went wide with wonder, as she leaned in a bit closer. "Is it going to be a big one?"

"The biggest this season, so I hear." Saeth replied, nodding sagely. Zaacha grinned and leaned back a little bit, taking a glance up at the skies to see if she could find any traces of the approaching storm. Saeth seized the opportunity and looked her up and down, lifting his eyebrows as he appraised her body. Sig scowled and shifted again, growing more and more uncomfortable with the situation as the seconds ticked by. Zaacha's head came down, and Saeth quickly pulled his eyes away, pretending that he was never interested in the first place.

Zaacha's eyes immediately flew to the tan Wastelander with the empty kangarat cage. "Sig?" She asked, drawing out his name pleadingly.

The Wastelander rolled his eyes. "No."

Zaacha reached over and clung to his muscular arm, tugging insistently. "Come on Sig; just this once."

"The answer is no, blueberry." He said firmly, looking away before she could give him her puppy-dog eyes.

The girl pouted. "Why not?"

Sig sighed, irritated by his ward's whining. "Because it's dangerous out there."

Zaacha moved to stand in front of him, her hands firmly placed on her hips, fingers sliding over the thin slip of belt that held her shorts up. "So? Boys my age are sent out there all the time. Why can't I go?"

"Because I said so." He nodded to Saeth. "Suit up. You'll be going out in the sandstorm within the hour."

Saeth saluted smartly, his lips still twitched up in a mocking smirk. "You got it, boss man."

The group separated, Saeth rushing off in the direction of his house to prepare for his mission out into the raging winds of the sandstorm while Sig, Zaacha, and Rica made their way back to the palace, Rica glancing around, trying to chase after the stray armidogs _(2)_ that rushed about the alleyways, hoping for a quick meal. Zaacha tugged on the reins to keep him from running after the animals, paying no mind to the protesting burbles he made as he sadly watched them race farther away.

Sig looked down at her from the corner of his eye. She deliberately looked away from him, keeping her face forward. Sig sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, Zaacha. I'm just looking out for your safety."

"You let Saeth go out there. What about him?"

"He wasn't entrusted to me. Try to understand, blueberry. You're like a sister to me. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you."

Zaacha pursed her lips, but remained silent.

"Hey, Zaacha!"

Her eyes lifted off the ground, her usual smile immediately plastered onto her lips. Another boy was racing down the lane, waving frantically at her. "Hey Kris." She greeted cheerfully. Sig rolled his eye. False happiness didn't suit her. "What is it?"

The boy stopped, his boots kicking up a small cloud of dust. "Kleiver wants you back in the garage. There's something wrong with the Dune Hopper _(3)_, but he can't get under it to see what it is."

Zaacha laughed and shook her head, curls swaying behind her. "I keep telling him to loose weight." She muttered. Passing the reins to Sig, she rushed down the road, neck and neck with Kris. "I'll be back later tonight." She called over her shoulder.

Sig watched Zaacha race off, blinking. "What just happened?" He asked no one in particular. An excited gibber called Sig's attention from the steadily smaller silhouette of Zaacha to the lizard at his side; a small green leg twitched spasmodically between the lizard's thin lips, a small unenthusiastic yip echoing off the roof of the leaper's mouth. Sig groaned and reached over, tugging on the leg. A not-too-happy, spit covered armidog popped out and sat on the ground, growling and barking at the lizard's leg. The Wastelander rubbed a hand over his face. "I hate you, do you know that?"

The leaper chose to ignore the comment and lunged at the yipping armidog again.

1 : The frill on the side of a leaper lizard head.

2 : The tiny light green animals that run around in the smaller streets of Spargus.

3 : The third car available from Kleiver's garage.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Oh geez – I'm so sorry guys! I totally forgot about updating this fic! I'll try to be better and update faster, I swear.

Shout outs to **Bandit-sama**, **Aries28**, and **Silver Horror**.As always, much love to my beta – Aries28, you rock my socks! The little purple button at the very bottom of the page really does work, so you should press it and leave me a nice little review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read now.

Torn paced the room, a half empty bottle of Ottsel King _(1) _clutched a little too tightly in his fist. The Wastelanders were the key to winning this war, but Sig refused to agree to help. Blasted Wastelanders. The former Krimson Guard ran a hand through his milk chocolate hair, tugging roughly as it caught one of the many knots. Perfect. Just perfect. And while he was stuck waiting on Sig, more and more men were dying out on the field, the KG Bots and the Metalheads pushing closer and closer to the tentative bases set up around the city. Great. Wonderful. Absolutely spiffy. Not to mention that KG forces had surrounded HQ. No ground troops could get into the district, much less out of it. All zoomers in the area were shot out, making a streamline escape impossible.

Positively enchanting. Could this be any better?

"Torn, calm down. Sig will help, just give him some more time." Jak called from the bar, not bothering to look at the anxious man as he took another sip from his mug of Orange Lightning Supreme _(2)_.

Torn turned mid-step, slamming his fist into the holoscreen. Two empty bottles of Ottsel King rolled onto the floor with a pair of resounding clanks, chipping and clattering across the hard floor. "Calm down? I can't calm down. My men are dying out there, Jak. If those Wastelanders don't help us, we can't win. Haven City will be overrun with KG Bots and Metalheads."

"It already is." The green-haired hero remarked grimly, though a small smirk still strayed across his lips, taunting his companion without meaning to.

Torn sighed angrily and took a long draft of his Ottsel King. It wasn't even noon, and he was on his third drink. It was shaping up to be a very long day.

Daxter hopped into the bar from the back room, leaping up to the counter to sit by his friend. Jak looked up from his cup and winked at his friend. "Hey there, buddy. How's it going?"

Daxter scowled playfully at Jak. "Horrible. You guys keep drinking up all my booze. I have nothing for the good-paying costumers after you shmucks leave."

Torn snorted. Like there was anyone out to actually buy drinks. All the citizens who weren't signed up for the Freedom League stayed indoors these days, trying to avoid the wild gunshots outside their windows.

As Tess came out into the main room, Jak chuckled and ruffled Daxter's ears. "Sorry Dax. I'll pay you back when I get the money; that bet I made on the Desert Races is coming through in a few days."

Daxter leaned over the edge of the counter, helping Tess up onto the bar before wrapping a thin, fuzzy arm around her furry waist. "Speaking of the desert, you ever met a girl named Zaacha while you were out there?"

"Zaacha? Yeah, I met her a couple of times. She was my last bet. Earned me quite a bit of money. Why?"

"She came in with Sig a few days ago. Wondering why a hot chick like her was hanging around with the big boy." Tess scowled and elbowed her ottsel roughly in the ribs. Daxter grimaced and held her closer. "Don't worry baby; she's got nothing on you." That seemed to satisfy Daxter's girlfriend, who went back to being the smiling, happy-go-lucky ottsel she had been two seconds before.

Torn's mind reeled back to his last meeting with the newly appointed Wastelander king. He was about to make a break through and get that supporting army he needed when she came in and messed it all up. He huffed and took another drink, setting the empty bottle none too gently on the holoscreen table.

Jak blinked. "What, you didn't hear? She's his ward."

Daxter looked up, one ear flopping over his goggles. "His what now?"

"Ward, Dax. Damas left her in his care."

"What, she your sister or something?"

Jak chuckled. "Nothing like that. From what I heard, her dad did some pretty bad stuff. Even the Wastelanders kicked him out of the social group."

Daxter whistled. "That's some heavy stuff if those guys start avoiding you."

Jak nodded, his hair bobbing slightly. "I know. Sig wouldn't fill me in on all the details, but it must have been pretty gruesome."

Daxter cocked his head to one side. "Where was I through all this?"

"Where else? Flirting with Tess."

"Ah yes. My favorite thing to do." He mused, placing a light kiss on Tess' furred cheek. His eyes strayed back up to Jak. "Is Keira coming down later?"

Jak shrugged. "I think so. We were going to head out to dinner tonight. Why do you ask?"

"There's a zoomer parked out back, but it's so busted up that it won't budge. I was hoping she could take a look at it and fix it just enough to move it away from the back door. Then, who knows? Paint it orange, with the words Orange Lightning stenciled on the sides. A new leather seats with lightning bolts stitched into the back. Some sweet gun and rocket attachments for looks."

Daxter rambled on, unaware that only Tess was listening anymore.

Torn groaned and moved into one of the booths, setting his forehead down onto the cold tabletop with a dull thump that sounded like it rattled his brain. This war was becoming too much. Even with the recent victories, there was so much more to be won and lost. Winning was on the most distant horizon, growing farther and farther away with each day that slipped by. If only the Wastelanders would join the fight, Torn was sure that the Freedom League would win, and Haven City could return to its former glory that Mar had brought.

"You ok?"

Torn didn't bother to raise his head from the table as Jak slid into the booth across from him. "Do I look like I'm ok?" He grumbled.

"Hey, I know things are getting rough out there, but I need to ask you a question." Torn lifted his eyes to study the hero, a shaggy eyebrow quirked in questioning. Jak fiddled with a loose lock of emerald, pushing it nervously behind one of his pointed ears. "How's my hair look?"

Torn groaned and slammed his face back down onto the table. "It looks fine, Jak." He gritted between clenched teeth.

"You really think so? I was thinking of putting it in dreadlocks, maybe buzzing it really short." Torn's companion blathered.

"Yeah, that sounds great." Torn mumbled, not paying any attention.

The brunette hoisted his head back up again as the bar door slid open, revealing the mechanic Jak had been waiting for. The hero immediately waved her over, a small grin gracing his face. Keira smiled and sat down next to him, giving Jak a quick peck on the lips. "Hey Jak. Hey Torn."

Torn grunted in response, leaning back in his seat to watch Jak wrap a muscled arm around Kierra, leaning his cheek down to rest on the top of her head, whispering softly to her. Ashelin would not be happy about this. No matter how much Torn explained it to her, the red head did not seem to understand that she could not have Jak. It was obvious to everyone except her that Jak and Keira were together, and would most likely stay together for some time.

It wasn't that Ashelin was a bad person, and wasn't happy that Jak and Keira were happy; it was just she wanted Jak to be happy with Ashelin. She liked him ever since she watched him race recklessly around the track against for the first time. Something about the spark in his eye, the dangerous driving seemed to draw her to him. Even after he was banished to the Wastelands, she tried to convince him "subtly" that she was his best bet at happiness. But, he loved Keira. That should have been enough.

Torn sighed softly, running a hand through his hair again. Ashelin would have been happy is she had gone on a date with him way back when. She never would have thought to give Jak a second glance if she realized how much Torn liked her. But she never saw him as any more than a drinking buddy.

"Dreadlocks? You want dreadlocks? But you can't wash your hair for weeks – months – if you do that. No way, no dreadlocks."

"Well, what about a mustache?"

"Are you crazy? It took you years to get that goatee. Do you honestly want to spend that much time on a mustache?"

"Ok, ok. How about buzzing?"

"Like a military cut? Are you crazy? We both know you like to play with your hair too much to have it buzzed that short."

Torn sighed as Keira and Jak kept talking, the mechanic playing with slack strands of hair. He looked over his shoulder at the ottsel on top of the bar, still talking to his girlfriend. "Hey, Daxter. Get me another drink."

It was defiantly going to be a long day.

1 :: An alcoholic beverage served at the Naughty Ottsel

2 :: An alcoholic beverage served at the Naughty Ottsel


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Shalom and welcome, dear friends. Shout outs to **Bandit-sama** and **Aries28**. As always, much love to my beta – Aries28, you rock my socks! The little purple button at the very bottom of the page really does work, so you should press it and leave me a nice little review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read now.

The winds howled, pummeling the garage door. Zaacha shivered, despite the heat of the desert sun that still leered down from the hazy sky. Her fingers nimbly ran across loose nuts and bolts, twisting them with a quick flick of her wrist, securing the new gizmo into place under the buggy. From beneath the Dune Hopper, she could hear Kleiver roaring instructions over the already wailing storm. "Don't go any further than the river. Keep your transmitters on at all times, or you'll never make it back into the city when its time to hightail it out of the storm. If things get too hot for ya out there, too bad; stick it out, pansies." He glanced up and down the line of boys standing in front of him. Each one was covered from head to toe in hard plated armor, a pair of goggles nestled in their hair and a colorful bandana wrapped around their necks, streaming behind them in a strangely masculine rainbow. "You're due back before the hardest winds hit; one hour. Be inside the gates, or you're in for one tough night. No one's going back out there for you, so kiss your sorry kiester goodbye if you don't come back before the gates lock." A few boys gulped, their legs shaking, their knees knocking together; obviously their first retrieval mission.

Zaacha slid out from under the vehicle, reaching for her old, rough, grease-stained towel. She shook her head, a stray curl falling from her hair tie. She knew that wasn't true. If anyone were to be left out there, Sig would send out somebody to bring him back. He always did.

Kleiver nodded to the group. "Get in your vehicles. As soon as the gates open, you go." The group silently climbed into their respective buggies, pulling their bandanas up over their mouth and noses. "Get ready." Kleiver warned, walking over to the open switch. Hand flew up, pulling goggles down to cover sensitive eyes. The engines roared to life, revving and growling, chomping at the bit, ready for action. Zaacha scanned the crowd, picking out Saeth with his orange bandana, and Kris with his dark blue goggles. "Go." The door slammed open, and the dune buggies sped off, separating as they fought their way farther and farther into the wild wind.

Zaacha watched with longing eyes as the blowing sands covered the remains of tire tracks, the whirr of the engines still moaning in the wind. The towel fell limp in her hands, stained with her toils and works. Just one mission was all she asked for. It wasn't like it would kill Sig to let her have one mission. She knew the desert like it was her backyard. Well, technically it was her backyard. The blonde mechanic's calloused hand rested on her shoulder as lightly as possible, derailing her train of thought. "Get out of here, Zaacha." Kleiver commanded jokingly. "You know Sig will have a fit if you're out when the storm blows over the city." Zaacha nodded, reluctantly tearing her eyes from the churning sands. She threw her towel onto a remaining car's hood and walked out of the garage with one more wave back into the sand strewn streets of the city.

Her steel-toed boots sank in the newly settled dirt as Zaacha's eyes scanned the emptying streets. Mothers were rushing their children indoors; workers were locking up the shops; the market carts were rolling under protective covering to keep them out of the oncoming storm winds. The wind started to pick up, blowing more sand into the already muddled air. A cobalt curl wafted before ash eyes, temporarily blocking the world from view.

"There you are."

Zaacha's fingers found the curl, tugging it quickly from her eyes, bringing everything back into focus. A shaggy mop of navy hair fell over the icy eyes that glared down at the teenager. Zaacha froze. "Wh-what do you want?"

Pallecht snorted. "What else? You need to come home. The storm is coming, after all." He said, grabbing her arm roughly to drag her back to his house.

Shaking her head, Zaacha wrenched her arm out of his hand, not minding the bruises that were already forming on her skin. "I don't live with you, and I don't want to." She declared defiantly, trying to act brave despite her hammering heart.

The man pursed his lips. "You don't have much of a choice."

Zaacha smirked shakily. "There's always a choice." In a flash of blue hair, she turned on one heel and took off down the street into the raging winds.

Zaacha heard an angry shout and pounding footsteps behind her. Pallecht was chasing her. What else was new? The girl closed her eyes and pushed harder against the sand, running against the wind in a desperate attempt to find safety from her pursuer. Short breaths ripped from her lungs by the sands swirling through the alleyways, hurried footsteps frantically found the disappearing ground as she ran, curls streaming in the storm. Pallecht's harsh, tired breaths ground out behind her; he was tiring. She grinned and ducked down one last alleyway, boots scraping along the side of the stone building as she rushed past, the palace door popping into view through the veil of sand. One last burst of speed. Three. Two. One. Dodge the hands grappling for her from behind. Pallecht grunted as he almost fell, missing his target. The door slid open and Zaacha launched herself inside to safety. The elevator was shut off from the outside with a quick swish of air as Zaacha plopped tiredly on the wooden planks beneath her.

"What a day." She muttered to herself, her breath finally catching up with her.

The elevator jolted to the stop in the throne room, the very top of the palace. Water trickled from small pond to small pond, cooling the room from the desert's unbearable heat.

"Hey there blueberry. Back from the garage already?"

Plastering a grin on her face, she stood and looked up at the throne, where her guardian sat, shoulders slumped, a communicator held loosely in his grasp. "I know how you get when I'm out in the city during a storm. Last time you practically turned the city upside down when I didn't come back before the heavy winds hit." She paused, watching him curiously. "Are you alright?"

Sig blinked, rolling the communicator between his calloused fingers. "Yeah, of course. Never better."

Zaacha rolled her eyes, walking not to carefully down the slim path to the throne. "Sure you are." She found the arm of the throne and plopped down, narrowly avoiding sitting on Sig's muscular arm. She nudged him with her elbow, which barely reached his ribs in their current position. "Come on. Out with it."

The big man sighed and slouched in his chair, his head now level with Zaacha's shoulder. "It's this war in Haven City. I just got a call from Jak. He says that they could really use our help. Calling it a personal favor if I send our boys in to help out." Sig tossed the transmitter between his hands, careful not to drop it. "And I do owe him one for saving us last year."

"Then why are you just sitting around here? Go send some Wastelanders in there." Zaacha prompted.

Sig raised an eyebrow. "You serious? Do you know how many people hate Haven City? No way would they go."

"Well, then tell him you can't."

The muscled Wastelander shook his head. "I can't do that to Jak. He's counting on me to come through for him."

Zaacha growled softly, nudging Sig harder. "Will you make up your mind already? You say there's no way you can do it, then you say you have to do it." Her eyes softened slightly, her lips curling at the corners. "Sig, you're our leader. We'll follow you. We trust you. Do what you think is best." She gave him a quick, one-armed hug before slipping off the arm of the throne and walked behind it to stand before the large ring _(1)_, supposedly used as decoration. She lifted a slender finger and tapped one of the symbols that shimmered in the flickering torchlight. The ring seemingly disappeared into the floor, revealing a doorway, leading down into the "royal" housing. Or rather, the few rooms that lined the outside of the throne room. Zaacha looked over her shoulder and smiled, even though Sig couldn't see her anymore. "I know you'll do the right thing." And with that, she disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.

1 :: The coppery ring behind Damas' throne in the Throne Room in Spargus City


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Shalom and welcome, dear friends. Shout outs to **Bandit-sama** and **Aries28**.As always, much love to my beta – Aries28, you rock my socks! The little purple button at the very bottom of the page really does work, so you should press it and leave me a nice little review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read now.

A loud bang echoed down the dark hallway of the "royal apartments", bouncing off the stone and metal walls. Zaacha never looked up from her thin book as the noise swelled and cascaded over her ears, more then likely making the bed sheets she was laying on ripple like waves. "Come in, Sig." She called over the distant howl of the winds outside her window.

The large Wastelander slowly opened the door, peering inside. "How'd you know it was me?"

She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I had a hunch." She looked up from her page, still smiling. "Welcome to my humble abode. What can I do for you?"

He pushed the door completely open, entering the room. "Look, I wanted to . . . thank you." Zaacha lifted a slim eyebrow as Sig continued. "I'm going to send in some Wastelanders to Haven City. I owe Jak that much." He plopped down on the edge of her bed, barely noticing Zaacha sit up and throw her feet over the edge of her bed to join him. "You really think they'll follow me?"

The girl rolled her eyes and poked the Wastelander in the ribs. "If I tell you yes one more time, will you finally get it? Sig, they trust you. These Wastelanders would follow you to the edge of the world and jump off it if you told them to."

Sig blinked. "There is no edge of the world, blueberry. The world is round."

Zaacha shot him an angry glare. "I know that, Sig. It's an expression." She rubbed her temples. "Look, my point is do what you think is right. If you want to help Jak, help Jak. No one will question you. You're our leader. I don't know if I can pound that into your skull much farther."

Sig smiled, chuckling. He threw a large arm across Zaacha's shoulders, nearly smothering her in the process. "I guess you're right."

Zaacha giggled, despite the weight draped over her. "When aren't I?"

"What about when you were eleven and you were sure you could make it up onto one of the canvas covers over the fruit stands and ended up falling into a whumbee nest?"

"I got them off before too many bit me."

"You were still wrong."

Zaacha made a pouting face, plopping back on her bad. "Ok, ok. One time."

Sig laughed again. "Fine. What about that one time when –" A loud buzzing filled the room, ending Sig's sentence prematurely as Zaacha jumped in surprise. Rolling his eye, Sig dug into the pack at his side, his large hand almost too big to fit through the opening. Zaacha reminded herself to get him a new one when she went to market tomorrow on her way to Kleiver's as Sig finally found the source of the infernal buzzing, grabbing the offending communicator and clicking the "accept" button. "This is Sig."

"Sig, mate, you need to get down here. One of our boys hasn't made it in yet."

Zaacha's eyes went wide as she studied Sig's face, now creased with worry. "Who isn't back?"

"Who else; it's Saeth. He called in before the winds broke up the main transmission line; seems he went over the river and got some water caught up in his gear works _(1)_, by the sound of the sputtering. He's only got fifteen minutes left, I don't know if anyone can get out there in time."

"Sit tight, I'm on my way." Sig ended the call, stuffing the communicator back into his pack. He stood up, looking at Zaacha. "You'd better come, too. Might as well check the buggies that are coming in for clogs."

Nodding, Zaacha pushed herself off the bed, grabbing a pair of goggles from the windowsill and a thick jacket from the floor. She shrugged it over her shoulders, following Sig out the door and into the throne room. Hustling towards the elevator, the pair both rocked on their heels as the machine cranked them down ever-so slowly, gnawing on their lips and picking at their clothes nervously before the elevator door at the bottom level opened, revealing the sand-strewn city.

Rushing down the main streets, the pair batted at debris that flew at them from all angles, barely noticing their footsteps disappearing behind them, covered by the blowing sands. A few scattered thin trees moaned as the winds pushed them around, seeming to bend so far that they would snap in half. Finally, Kleiver's garage door opened, admitting the exhausted pair into the semi-safety created by the tallest section of the city walls.

Sig looked over at Kleiver, not noticing Zaacha slip from his side. "How many are in?" He asked loudly over the pounding of the gale.

"The last of the boys are coming in now, but someone has to go out for Saeth. What do you want to do?"

Sig started for his Gila Stomper _(2)_. "I'm going out there. Keep those gates open until I get back." He commanded.

The roar of an engine drew his attention to the other side of the garage, where Zaacha had already slid into a Desert Screamer _(3)_ and was peeling towards the gate. "Your Gila Stomper is too heavy, it'll never make it over the river in time. I'll be there and back before you know it." She shouted, waving over her shoulder as she sped off into the desert.

"Zaacha!" Sig shouted, getting in to his buggy.

Kleiver jumped up, pulling the Wastelander leader out. "She's right, Sig. It's too dangerous for that buggy to be out there. It'd tip in one second flat."

Sig growled, turning to face the blonde mechanic. "Fine, what else do you have?" The muscular man more demanded than asked.

Kleiver shook his head sadly. "Everything else is clogged up because of that storm out there – Zaacha's going to have to do this on her own."

Scowling, Sig clenched his fists. "She can't do this one her own, Kleiver. She can barely drive those things. You taught her the basic works, but that's nothing out there in the desert."

A muffled snort of laughter blew into the muscular Wastelander's ears, spinning him around the glare at the crowd of returning drivers. "Would one of you like to tell me what you find so amusing?" He asked coldly, eyeing each of them.

A rider in dark blue goggles stepped forward, hoping his forth coming would spare him any wrath that he may have invoked. "Sig . . . you know as well as the rest of us that Zaacha-"

"Kris, if one more word comes out of your mouth, you'll be licking up these oil pools." Kleiver threatened.

Shrinking back into the cloud of scarves and goggles, Kris melded with the dulling colors, praying to whoever would hear him that he wouldn't have to lick Kleiver's garage clean.

Sig grabbed the strap of Kleiver's worn leather chest plate, pulling the large blonde closer to him, so close he could see lunch still wedged in the mechanic's teeth. "You are going to tell me what's going on. Now." He said, slow, soft, and intimidating.

Kleiver knew better than to struggle against the newly appointed Wasteland Ruler. If Sig wanted to know something, you would tell him or be throttled; and after strangling you, he would demand someone else tell him what he wanted to know. Either way, Zaacha was in serious trouble when she came back with Saeth. Pushing back slightly to give himself some room, Kleiver ran a hand over his mustache, smoothing it while causing trapped sand to float away in the wailing winds. "Sig, Zaacha can drive."

Sig snorted. "I can see that. But why and when?"

"Remember when you left her with me? When you went into Haven City to spy?" Kleiver asked, a twinge in his voice hinting at his not so well hidden anxiety.

"Yeah. You taught her to drive then?" Sig asked, his voice still raspy and low with semi-well controlled anger.

"A little more than that . . ." Kleiver said vaguely.

Sig chuckled mirthlessly. "What, it's not like she can race or any-" He stopped mid sentence, "You didn't . . ."

Kleiver laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head, where his mullet met his bald spot. "I didn't really teach her, she just kind of picked up on it from some of the boys that come in to race. I didn't even realize she had gone into the race before I went out to fix up one of the buggies after the preliminary." He paused, watching Sig's face. "She's a good racer." He offered, hoping to somewhat ease his mind.

Sig slowly released Kleiver and brought his hands up to his face to massage his temples, muttering a long string of obscenities under his breath.

1 :: The parts beneath the dune buggies connecting the fuel lines and the engine to the pistons (the things that make the vehicles move).

2 :: The large buggy that Sig drives through the Metalhead nest in the desert.

3 :: An optional buggy bought in the Secrets section of the Pause Menu.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Shalom and welcome, dear friends. Shout out to **Aries28**.As always, much love to my beta – Aries28, you rock my socks! The little purple button at the very bottom of the page really does work, so you should press it and leave me a nice little review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read now.

The tossing sea of sands clouded the air, thickening it in a maelstrom of wind and dust. Zaacha coughed, using one hand to tuck her scarf tighter around her mouth and nose, barely keeping the Desert Screamer from toppling as she did so. Her knuckles were white, gripping the steering wheel so hard her nails bit into the thin leather cover. She pressed the partially covered communicator button, hidden cleverly beside the left of the steering column, shouting into the speaker next to her head _(1)_. "Saeth, where are you?" Sand blew against her eyes, collecting in the rims around her goggles. "Saeth, answer me!" She lifted one hand, brushing a few lines of dirt off the lenses, waiting anxiously for a reply.

"Zaacha? What are you doing out here?"

She breathed a sigh of belief, coughing as some stray dirt flew under the cloth and up into her mouth. "Looking for you, what else? Now, answer the question." She demanded, swerving as a lost Marauder flung itself at her.

"Down by the old ruins _(2), _on the outskirts closest to the city."

Zaacha nodded, mapping the quickest course in her mind. "Right. Just hang on, I'm on my way." She called into the microphone, activating a turbo _(3)_ as she sharply turned her steering wheel. The wheels screeched and slid against the sand, the bottoms burying in the fresh layer of dust atop the dunes. A matching scream of tires caught her attention as she zipped down the hillside. The turned her head over one shoulder, glancing through the sand-strewn winds at the Marauder on her tail. Cursing, she activated another turbo, hoping to loose him in the storm.

Her buggy zoomed past the Spargus gate, snatching a somewhat broken transmission. "Zaacha . . . back here . . . else . . . big trouble . . . promise . . ."

She cringed. Sig was mad – really mad. She flipped the communicator switch, hoping some of her message would reach Spargus due to the close proximity of the garage. "I know where Saeth is. I'm on my way there. Don't worry." She tried to sound comforting despite the hoarse shouting to be heard over the maelstrom. Flicking the switch again, she tried to talk to Saeth through the wind. "Saeth, be ready to hop in as soon as I get there. The storm's about to hit full force." She yelled as a stray bullet whizzed past her ear. She cursed and ducked, shaking her head.

"Zaacha, you ok? What was that?" Saeth's voice came through the speaker, worry evident in his tone.

She growled. "I got a Marauder on my tail."

"A Marauder? This late in a storm?"

"Just my luck, huh?" She chuckled grimly. Her eyes narrowed with concentration as the ruins came in to view. "Saeth, heads up. I'm coming in."

A dull glow caught her eye by one of the retaining walls, crackling with energy and gaining intensity with each second. "Zaacha, veer right. Now!"

Her steering wheel seemed to act on it's on, spinning right as the energy rocketed through where she had been a second before, smashing into the Marauder's buggy, sending a quick burst of flames into the air, doused almost immediately by the whirling sands. A figure shifted a long gun onto his shoulder and ran over to the Desert Screamer, slipping into the passenger seat. Zaacha's hand rose, hitting Saeth on the back of the head. "Are you crazy? You could have hit me."

Saeth rubbed the back of his head as Zaacha took off, picking up the turbo in the Marauder's remains. "Me? No way. I'm the best marksman in Spargus."

Zaacha snorted. "You still haven't beaten Jak's score on the turret."

"He cheated, I tell you." Saeth grumbled, sinking deeper in the seat. "And you should have been able to take care of him yourself." The grumpy Wastelander prompted, slipping his Peacemaker behind the passenger seat for safekeeping.

The driver snorted. "You know Sig won't let me have a gun. He thinks I don't know how to handle it and won't lock it up and end up shooting a toe off or something."

"What about the gattling gun you put on this sucker last month?"

"Some Marauder metal flew into the mechanics last week. I haven't gotten around to getting it out yet." Zaacha's mind wandered for a moment, remembering that she spent most of her time in the garage working on Saeth's vehicle, and not her own. "I hope you left your car somewhere safe, we don't have time to tow it back to the city." Zaacha mentioned offhand as the buggy jumped over the top of a dune.

Saeth nodded. "Of course. It's near the center, in between three retaining walls. It'll be a little battered, but my Tough Puppy will be just fine."

"I still can't believe you drive that little thing. It has almost no power." Before Saeth could retort, a tremor shook the wheels of the vehicle, almost toppling it. Zaacha looked around wide-eyed. "Wh-what was that?"

Saeth looked over his shoulder, his mouth agape behind his orange scarf. "Zaacha, floor it!" He yelled, flipping back around in his seat, a pointed ear barely missing the gun behind him. "The storm's hitting." Zaacha turned slightly, her eyes growing wider at the site behind her. A wall of sand blew up form the ground, swallowing the short cacti that she left behind, gulping down water from the trickling river delta she had splashed through a minute before, steadily gaining ground on the buggy and its passengers. "Watch it!" Saeth grabbed her shoulder, drawing her attention to a rapidly approaching boulder.

"Holy Precursors!" She swerved, going up on two wheels to avoid the obstacle, the bottom of the Desert Screamer still scraping against the rock. Throwing her shoulder where the overhead bars met the body of the car, she quickly righted the vehicle and activated her newly acquired turbo, zooming ahead of the storm a few more seconds and over the tallest hill. Spargus came into view, the gates still open just enough for Zaacha to squeeze through. She flipped the communicator switch, shouting into the speaker. "Keep that gate open, we're coming in right now! Close it as soon as we make it inside, do you hear me?" She grated out as a cactus limb flew past the car, impaling the sand next to the front left tire. With a short yelp, Zaacha veered again, throwing her weight against the steering wheel to keep the vehicle from flipping in the wind. The storm was catching up again. "Lean forward!" She shouted to Saeth and activated her last turbo, holding herself up to the wheel as her passenger grabbed onto the front consol bars and the buggy threw itself against the sand, gripping it with its worn treads and pulling them closer to the gate. "Keep it open a little longer." She yelled, hoping that the transmission hadn't already been blocked out. The winds grabbed at the back of the vehicle, trying to hold it back from the gate, longing to play with its new toy car. Spargus came into view through the dust, suddenly looming over the buggy and the two people inside. She put both her feet on the gas pedal and pressed with all the strength she had left, sending the buggy flying through the tight gap between the gate doors. "Close the gate! Close the gate!" She hollered anxiously as she stamped on the brake pedal, the buggy spinning to the other side of the dirty garage from its near-death experience with the sand storm.

Hearing the clank of the gate, Zaacha let out a sigh of relief, resting her head on the steering wheel. "I did it." She whispered to herself, panting to regain her breath, trying to calm her racing heart. Saeth slipped out of the passenger seat, walking unsteadily towards the group of cheering Wastelanders.

A large hand grabbed her shoulder, wrenching her attention, speeding her heat again. Sig's grim face loomed over her, his eyebrows lowered over his eyes, mechanical and authentic. "Um . . . hi, Sig."

"What did you think you were doing?" He ground out. "You could have been killed out there."

Zaacha shrank back into her seat, pulling her scarf off her mouth and yanking the goggles off her head, clearing her vision of dust and cactus bits. "Sig, it's fine. I can manage a car."

He snorted. "So I heard. And when were you going to tell me you've been racing out there?"

Zaacha blinked. "You – how?" She stopped short, sending an angry glance at Kleiver. "You – why I ought to -"

Sig stopped her short, plucking her out of the buggy and throwing her over his shoulder. "You're coming home."

Zaacha glowered at Kleiver as she was carried away, shaking her fist at him. Kleiver gulped, scratching his protruding gut. "That didn't go well." He muttered softly.

Saeth sniggered, tugging his goggles out of his hair and away from his eyes, showing off the strange white circles where his goggles had kept his skin from being stained. "You're gong to get it now. Zaacha's pretty mad."

Kleiver grunted and sent a glare down at the young Wastelander. "You're in no position to point and laugh. You're not off the hook for going over the river. And you left me buggy out there in the storm." Saeth's face fell, putting his goggles back over his eyes as he headed towards the desert gate. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Back out in the storm. I have a better chance surviving out there than I do in here."

Kleiver grabbed his collar, pulling him back. "No way. You ain't getting off that easy." Saeth groaned as he was dragged towards the city, all hopes of escaping Kleiver's wrath slipping through his grasp like the sands themselves.

1 :: The speaker is hung from one of the overhead bars that keep the driver from falling out of the vehicle incase it flips over.

2 :: Where Damas sent Jak and Kleiver to gather Leaper Lizards, just before Jak received the Dune Hopper.

3 :: The red balls left by Marauders after destroyed that give your vehicle a boost of speed.


	8. Chapter 8

32A/N: Shalom and welcome, dear friends. Shout out to **Bandit-sama, BlueIrish** and **Aries28**.As always, much love to my beta – Aries28, you rock my socks! The little purple button at the very bottom of the page really does work, so you should press it and leave me a nice little review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read now.

"What did you think you were doing?" Sig shouted as the elevator slowly climbed up the building, rumbling sleepily as it worked long past its usual bedtime.

Zaacha leaned against one of the supports, trying to look nonchalant. "No one else was in any condition to go out, and your buggy would've tipped. It was common sense to send me out there. Since you obviously weren't going to do it, I sent myself for you."

The Wasteland ruler growled softly, glaring at the lounging girl. "And the racing? Who was that for?"

"For me." Sig threw up his arms, opening his mouth for his usual retort. "I know, I know." She puffed herself up, deepening her voice to badly impersonate his scolding tone. "It's too dangerous for you to go out there, Zaacha." Deflating, she looked up at the bulky Wastelander, her eyes barely visible past her mop of mused curls. "But I can do it, Sig. I've already won so many times. I can handle myself. I just wanted to prove that to you."

"I didn't ask you to prove it to me. You know how the city works; obey the laws set forth by the king."

Zaacha stood up straight. "But it's not fair."

"That's not the point." Sig shot back. "The point is that you disobeyed me."

Zaacha crossed her arms over her chest, blowing the curls out of her face with a quick burst of air. "What are you going to do, then? Spank me like I'm five years old?"

"You're acting like one."

"You treat me like one." She retorted. "I'm seventeen. I'm old enough to decide if I want to be a Wastelander. If I want to be out there, fighting with you." Her voice trailed off, softening as her eyes looked up into his, imploring him to listen.

Sig shook his head. "The answer is still no, Zaacha. I don't want you out there. As ruler, I can refuse Wastelander rights to anyone."

The elevator shuddered and stopped, trickling water assaulting the passengers' ears. Zaacha scowled at the Wastelander in front of her. "I can't believe this. You know I can handle myself in battle."

"I know no such thing. You don't listen to orders, you don't carry a weapon -"

"That's not my fault; you won't let me." Zaacha interrupted.

Sig continued, pretending he never heard her. "You're unpredictable. You're a loose cannon."

"So you're solution is to keep me locked up in this city, then?"

"If I have to, yes."

Zaacha growled and threw up her arms, pushing past Sig. "You're impossible. I can't believe this." She mumbled to herself as she stomped back towards the secret entrance to the royal apartments.

Sig groaned and slowly plodded over to the throne, plopping down unceremoniously into the hard chair. "Why do you have to be so difficult?" He asked as if Zaacha could still hear him. A loud buzz came from his pouch again, purring against his thigh annoyingly. With an aggravated sigh, he plucked the noisy communicator from the leather pocket and clicked it on. "Sig here." He said tiredly.

"Sig, listen. I need an answer to that Wastelander help. The city -"

The Wastelander rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples. He almost forgot about the problem in Haven City. How was he going to make this work? With the new artifacts brought in from the sandstorm, he'd need a few Wastelanders to stay in Spargus to help bus them around. And repairs needed to be done to the wall – that would take another couple of Wastelanders to oversee the workers. Vehicle repairs could be done by Kleiver and Zaacha – if she would even talk to him, let along agree to help him by taking over a few repairs on the buggies. Scratch that idea. Kleiver would need at least one Wastelander with him. Then the usual protection against the Marauders that would come around within the week, feeling rejuvenated by the churn of the sands, hoping to catch the Spargans off guard. That would take a whole squadron, if not more. "Listen, Torn. I'm working on building up a squad to take into Haven. Some things have come up out here."

"We're paying you to get over here and you're making excuses?"

Sig growled. "Keep up that attitude, cherry, and you won't get anyone over there to fight your pathetic squabble."

A muffled sigh came through the static of the transmitter. "Sorry. Under a lot of stress. How long until I can expect some Wastelanders in here?"

Sig groaned. "I don't know. Let me consult with someone really fast. Give me five."

"Fine."

Sig's finger punched the "HOLD" button and quickly typed in a new call code, hoping that the receiver would pick up.

The sound of gunfire and static filled the room through the communicator. "What is it?" Jak's voice yelled over the din of war.

"Jak, buddy, you got a minute?"

A string of curses and the rev of a zoomer engine cut off conversation for a moment, before Jak's voice called back through the speaker. "Sure, this isn't so hard. What's up, Sig?"

The Wastelander scratched the back of his neck, tapping the toe of his steel-protected boot on the stone floor. "Do you think Haven City really needs our help?"

"Well, let's see. An army of KG Bots is chasing me and I'm about to stick my neck into the Metalhead section, where they have now learned how to cloak their snipers and have brought reinforcements in from Dead Town _(1)_. Do you think we have this under control?" The whirr of a low-flying bot interrupted, followed by a crash and a grim laugh. "Stupid KG bot thought he could sneak up on me." Jak muttered.

"Look cherry, I don't know how many guys I can get in there to help."

"Doesn't matter. As long as we get some reinforcements who can actually fight, not these Krimson Guard cookie-cutter fighters who couldn't shoot me when I was killing the Baron."

Sig smirked. "As I recall, you got a nice scar on your arm from that war."

He heard Jak groan from the memory. "That rock came out of nowhere. I mean, what was a boulder like that doing in the bar when there was sharp pencil on the ground?"

Sig chuckled. "It wasn't a boulder, cherry. That was a pebble."

"Come on, that thing was huge."

"Has Kierra found out what it's from yet?"

Jak let out a short laugh. "You kidding me? She thinks it came from my battle with Kor. Dax's stories are good for something, at least."

Sig smirked. "Good to hear. Ok cherry, I'll send some of my boys in to the city. It'll take me a day or two."

"Take your time. Really. No rush. It's not like we're dying here or nothing." A roar shook the communicator, swiping Sig's smirk off his face. "I'll talk to you when you get here. Later." Jak shouted. "Ok big guy, bring it on." Jak murmured before the transmission shut down.

Sig blinked and shook his head, bringing Torn back into the conversation. "Give me two days. We'll get our problems taken care of, and we'll go in."

"Fine. We'll try to hold out until you come in. See you in two days." The communicator beeped and fell silent. The faint hiss of a closing door caught Sig's attention for a split second, but it quickly slipped his mind. Two days. Yeah, he could get a few boys into Haven City in two days. But not enough to win Torn's war. No body wanted to be in that city; Sig didn't even want to be in there when he was looking for Damas' kid when he met Jak. How was he going to convince a squad of Wastelanders that Haven City was worth fighting, and possibly dying for?

Speaking of dying, Sig's mind flew back to Zaacha and that stunt she pulled not even half an hour ago. She stormed off to her room, and most likely wasn't going to talk to Sig for the rest of the week. Sig groaned. So now he'd have to apologize and get her to fix up the buggies while he was away in Haven City. Heaving one more sigh, the muscular Wastelander lifted himself out of his throne and walked slowly to the precursor ring, humming his own funeral march down the hidden hallway until he stood outside of Zaacha's door. Swallowing his pride, he gently rapped on the door with his knuckles. "Zaacha, can we talk?" He waited for a few seconds, irritated but not surprised by the following silence, and continued. "Look, I'm just worried about your safety out there. I know you think you can handle yourself out there, but it's a lot more dangerous than you think. You know what happened to Kleiver and me when we took on those Marauders when we were young and cocky." He paused for a moment, running a thick finger over his mechanical lens, remembering the pain of the bullet ricocheting off the rocks and hitting him square in the face, eradicating half of his right eye; remembering the blood, the yells; remembering lowering his guard and letting Kleiver get hit with a sword; remembering all the pain, the guilt. Regaining his grip on the present situation, he squared his shoulders and kept talking. "I could never forgive myself if something like that happened to you because I let you join the Wastelanders too early. I mean, you could die out there. And it would be my fault. Do you understand?" He stopped again, hoping for an answer. When none came, he knocked a little harder on the door. "Zaacha, come on. Open the door." No sound came from inside except the soft whisper of wind. His fist pounded against the wood of her door. "Blueberry, let me in." He commanded. Hearing no reply again, he gritted his teeth and took hold of the simple doorknob, twisting it in his grip. "I'm coming in." He warned, shoving the door open. To find nothing.

The room was devoid of life. The blankets on the bed were mused, a footprint clearly embedded in the covers, leading out the open window over the pallet. A note fluttered in the murmuring wind, tucked under the semi-flat pillow. Narrowing his eye, Sig ripped the paper from under the pillow, reading its simple message.

"Haven City will need all the help they can get. I'll meet you there in a few days. Zaacha"

"Son of a Leaper!" He cursed, crumpling the note into a ball in his fist, racing to the window and peering out into the fresh sand. Leaper lizard prints had already started to dissolve into the wind. She had left a while before he got here, and was probably already on the transport. She'd be in Haven City by morning. Muttering a string of creative curses, he quickly plucked the communicator from his pouch. Kleiver had better know who to call up for the Haven mission, or no one in Spargus would sleep that night.

1 :: Where you find Samos' hut in Jak II


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Shalom and welcome, dear friends. Shout out to **Bandit-sama, BlueIrish, Nostalgic Beauty,** and **Aries28**.As always, much love to my beta – Aries28, you rock my socks! The little purple button at the very bottom of the page really does work, so you should press it and leave me a nice little review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read now.

Zaacha yawned and rubbed her eyes sleepily, fighting against the fatigue that battled at the border of her consciousness. She hadn't slept in almost twenty-four hours, and her last adventure in the desert was starting to catch up with her. The transport buzzed and purred comfortingly around her, the metal under her warmed by the engine. With a soft sigh, she gently laid down on the metal bench, curling up into a small ball out of habit. Her eyes drooped shut, weariness finally winning despite her well-fought skirmish and overtaking her senses.

Not two minutes after she fell into light sleep, the blue transport jerked to a stop, wrenching Zaacha from her position on the makeshift bed to say an early good morning to the floor. Grumbling unenthusiastically, the navy-haired girl rubbed her sore nose and sat up, stretching. Judging by the rocky start of it, the day was going to be unbelievably long. Pushing herself off the cooling metal floor, Zaacha hit the Open Hatch button and took her second look at Haven City.

The water was still as oily as she remembered, the overcast sky casting an even gloomier feel over the caged city. With an involuntary shiver, the girl stepped off the wide ramp and began her "leisurely" stroll towards the Naughty Ottsel.

The few citizens who dared to venture from their houses glanced at her warily, backing out of her way as she rounded the corners of the port towards the bar that served as a makeshift headquarters. The sound of distant gunfire echoed off the horrible, grimy walls, ringing in Zaacha's ears unpleasantly loud. With another yawn, she found herself walking down the final alley towards the Naughty Ottsel.

"Halt."

She blinked, her feet scuffling to a stop. She hadn't taken any notice of the blue-clad men walking towards her until they had formed a blockade of sorts before her. "Can I help you?" She asked curiously, cocking her head to one side.

An unidentified man near the center of the line of identical brothers stepped closer to her, holding his gun up threateningly. "What's a Spargan doing in Haven City without a pass?"

Zaacha frowned. "Pass?" Her blood boiled at a low simmer, just enough to raise her temper. A pass to get into a city that was about to be lost to the monsters that roamed it uninvited? Now, since she wasn't with the mighty ruler of Spargus, she needed a pass to walk down the street? "Your leader asks us to fight a loosing battle to help you, and you ask me where my pass is?"

The azure man shuffled his feet, his helmet lowered slightly in shame. "Leader? So, you're here to see Torn then?"

Zaacha's eyes narrowed, a plan forming in her head as she saw the men shrinking back, the line pushing farther and farther from her. "I am an emissary, sent by the King of Spargus, here to negotiate the final terms of the units to be sent to assist you in your quest for victory over your foes." She proclaimed in an imperial tone, holding herself straight and high against the sapphire guards. "However, once my lord has heard of the rude and crass ways you greet one sent by your only ally in this war, he may decide against sending our troops in to aide your cause." She sniffed, looking down at the ashamed sentinels. "Seeing as how I cannot be permitted to see the leader that has sent for us without some pass, I will simply report back to the King that we are not wanted." She finished in a low, dangerous tone, turning slowly to march back to the awaiting transport.

The man whom confronted her jumped away from the line. "No, no no! Please, forgive our rudeness. Torn is just a few doors ahead." He said, pointing eagerly in the direction of the bar. "There's no need to tell your King that we've had a little mishap here, is there?" He chuckled beneath his mask, lowering his weapon to his side.

Zaacha sighed haughtily and spun again, looking at the abashed sentries. "Well, I suppose this mistake can be overlooked." She said slowly.

The man nodded enthusiastically, the joy of his voice barely muffled by the mask strapped to his face. "Absolutely, so glad we agree. Will you need an escort to the Naught Ottsel?"

"I've gotten myself this far; I can manage to find your headquarters on my own, I think." She told him, shooing him away with one hand.

He paused, but fell back into the line with his identical cerulean brothers. "Let her pass, and continue to sweep the area." He commanded, bringing his gun back up to his chest. Zaacha stepped through the line of guards, waiting until they were out of hearing range before collapsing into a fit of laughter. "Haven-ites are too fun." She murmured to herself, finally finding her destination staring her in the face. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the bar, letting the door hiss shut behind her, trapping her within the steel walls of the Freedom League's army.

A brunette looked up at her from the center of the room, his hands firmly planted on the holoscreen in front of him. "Who are you?" He asked gruffly.

"I'm Zaacha, from Spargus City."

That seemed to catch his attention. "Spargus? Are they here already?" He asked excitedly, straightening from his bent position over the map sprawled out on the holoscreen.

She shook her head. "No, no they won't be here until tomorrow. I'm just here to stake out the place." She said softly, sorry to disappoint him.

The brunette watched her carefully, but slumped back over the holoscreen. "Ashelin, are you there?"

A watery face popped out of the table, facing the man across the room from Zaacha. "Torn, is something wrong?" The face asked in a deep, feminine voice.

"No, I just thought I'd give a status report. A scout from Spargus just arrived, so the Wastelanders will enter the port sometime early tomorrow."

The head, known as Ashelin, nodded. "Good. We can start them in the KG sector, and have them work their way around towards the Metalheads." Zaacha snorted softly. Out in the desert, Metalheads were first priority, despite any obstacles that stood in the way. Then again, the Metalheads in the desert were so large that they could easily scale Spargus' protective wall and destroy everything the outcasts had worked so hard to build. Maybe these robots were more of a threat. She tossed a curl over her shoulder, watching the hovering face with interest. This Ashelin girl was pretty, even if she was just a wavering head right now. "Did you ever get those two boys into sector four?"

Torn shook his head. "Negative. They were killed off five minutes after the mission started."

Ashelin's shimmering face creased with worry. "That's the third team that was shot down this month. We'll never make it through there if we don't get those guns taken out." She paused for a moment. "Listen, Jak's in the area finishing off a few stray bombs. I'll send him your way so you can fill him in on the location of the cannons and he can take them out."

"Yeah, ok."

"Great. Ashelin out." The face fizzed in the air, and fell out of existence as suddenly as it had been born.

"Um, excuse me. But do you have any water here? I'm dying of thirst." Zaacha asked, scuffing the toe of her boot on the steel floor.

He grunted and pointed over his shoulder. "Behind the counter, the second cooler on the right." He said offhand, forgetting for a moment that it wasn't his bar.

With a slight smile, Zaacha made her way around the mess of half-baked battle plans and old gun parts lying scattered across the floor to the bar, reaching over to find a bottle of water.

Torn glanced over his shoulder at the scout that Sig sent. She seemed a bit young to be in Haven City by herself, but she gave off an aura of confidence. She must be pretty high up on the Spargus chain of command to be trusted alone in a strange city. Torn returned his attention to the holoscreen when the girl turned, a bottle of water held triumphantly in her hand, one of the thousands of incomplete plans grasped loosely in the other. She studied the paper carefully, her stormy eyes flickering hither and thither across the scrawled handwriting, deciphering and decoding the ill-conceived plot. Her eyebrows knotted together for a moment before she strolled over to the holoscreen, smoothing the old plan in front of Torn. The brunette blinked and looked up at her. "Can I help you?" He asked.

She pointed to the paper, pinpointing a blank spot on the map. "If you put more troops here, you could sweep the main force down to the left and create a pincer effect around the metalheads and push them back into a corner to finish them off." She said simply, uncorking the water bottle to take a swig.

Torn blinked and bent closer to the map, studying it for a moment. The Spargan was right. A pincer approach would have saved the Freedom League at least a hundred men in a frontal assault, if he could still use that plan. Her watched her from the corner of his eye. How could she know to do that when he had Jinx look at it three weeks earlier, and all he had to say was "Blow it all up"?

The door hissed open again, revealing a green haired hero and a small orange ottsel walking in from the smog-infested street. "Hey Torn, Ashelin said you wanted to talk to us about – Zaacha?"

The girl squealed excitedly and ran over to the green haired man, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Jak! It's so great to see you!" She exclaimed.

He chuckled and put an arm around her, hugging her gently. "It's great to see you too, kid. What are you doing out here?" He asked as she released him.

"She's here for the Wastelanders. Came by to say they would be here by tomorrow." Torn interrupted.

Jak lifted an eyebrow suspiciously. "Sig let you come here by yourself?"

Zaacha bit her lip, looking down at the floor. "Well, he didn't object to me coming." She said slowly.

Torn straightened, watching the girl carefully. Jak smirked and crossed his arms over Mar's ancient armor, which he still wore proudly. "Let me guess, you didn't give him a chance to."

"Not exactly."

The door hissed and sprang to life, the silhouette of a bulky, armor-clad Wastelander blotting out most of the light. With a nervous squeak, Zaacha ducked behind Jak, peering around his arm anxiously. Sig stepped into the bar, anger clearly written all over his face. Torn groaned. It was going to be another very long day.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Shalom and welcome, dear friends. Shout out to **Bandit-sama, BlueIrish, Nostalgic Beauty,** and **Aries28**.As always, much love to my beta – Aries28, you rock my socks! The little purple button at the very bottom of the page really does work, so you should press it and leave me a nice little review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read now.

"You left without permission!" Shouted Sig angrily, his voice shaking the bar at its very foundation.

Zaacha crossed her arms, lounging against the holoscreen. "I went out into the desert without permission and saved one of your most promising Wastelanders." She pointed out coolly.

Sig ground his teeth together, his fist clenching and unclenching at his side. "That's not the point."

"It is the point. You treat me like I'm ten years old and I'm running with scissors. If you'd just let me –"

"Don't start with me, Zaacha." He warned, eye still trained on the reclined girl. "You aren't a Wastelander. Desert racing and running off to Haven City are not going to make you one."

The girl crossed her arms across her chest. "Well, what are you going to do, send me back to Spargus?"

"I have half a mind to put you on that transport right now."

Jak looked up from the counter, where he and the rest of the present company had been trying to ignore the argument since Sig's first appearance. "Transportation's down right now, Sig. Too many attacks on the port. They figured it was safer to shut down for a few days."

Zaacha smiled. "Now you can't send me home. I'm stuck here, so you might as well just -"

"You're going to stay in this bar." He instructed, turning to walk back out the door.

Zaacha fell forward in surprise. "What? You can't be serious."

Sig didn't bother to turn. "That's an order, Zaacha. You're staying in the bar until we're done here."

"What do you expect me to do, just wait around and do nothing?" She yelled at him as he continued walking.

"Make yourself useful; help Keira with some projects or something." He called over his shoulder before walking out the door to the Wasteland troop that was undoubtedly waiting outside.

"This is so unfair." She muttered, storming over to the bar, plopping down on one of the vinyl-covered stools. "He knows I can handle myself; he trained me. So why won't he let me out there?" She asked no one in particular, resting her chin on the glossy waxed countertop.

"He's worried about you, that's all." Jak said, slipping a muscular arm around her shoulders.

She sighed and pouted, her bottom lip jutting forward slightly. "Why doesn't he trust me?"

"You have to earn trust by following simple orders first. Plunging head first into battle unwittingly is no way to gain his appreciation." Torn muttered around the wide mouth of another Ottsel King.

Zaacha looked up, lifting an eyebrow. "I did not plunge head first 'unwittingly'. I knew exactly what I was doing. I just didn't tell anyone until I was already doing it."

"Oh yeah. You knew exactly what you were doing. Taking off for a fight that you had no idea about, in a city you didn't know, with people you've never met. That sounds like a great plan to me."

She smiled mockingly. "Well, I'm glad we agree."

Torn groaned and took another swig of his drink as Jak chuckled and removed his arm from around Zaacha's shoulders, ruffling her hair playfully.

The door slid open again, allowing a new face to enter the bar. Zaacha turned her head, wiping an indigo curl from her face. A girl in a light lilac top quietly walked behind Jack, covering his eyes with her hands. "Guess who."

Jack grinned, wrapping his fingers around her wrists as he pulled her hands away from his dark azure eyes. "Hey Kiera. What's up?"

She smiled and leaned down, kissing his cheek. "Nothing. Daddy finally agreed not to go out to Haven Forest yet, so I thought I'd come down and say hi." Her eyes finally met Zaacha's, pulling her away from Jak for a moment. "Oh, hi. I'm Keira." She said with a bright smile, slipping a hand out of Jak's grip and offered it to Zaacha.

The blue-haired Spargan grinned and took Keira's hand, shaking it friendly. "Zaacha. Nice to meet you."

Jak leaned his head back, resting it against Keira's bare stomach. "She's the one who's been making me all that money lately."

Keira's turquoise eyes lit up. "Really? What kind of engine is in your desert buggies? What does is run on? What's it like to drive with actual wheels and not a hover system? Do you find the sand drags at the speed, or do you use a special tread to keep the sand from affecting your acceleration? Oh, speaking of acceleration –"

Jak laughed and butted the girl's stomach gently, catching her attention. "Easy, Keira. You're going to fry her brain if you ask her anything else."

Sure enough, Zaacha felt like she was about to fall off her seat if Keira had asked one more question.

"Ah, Keira. Glad you could make it." Daxter's squeaky voice rang out from behind the bar. The ginger ottsel leapt out from the void that was behind the counter, grinning at the mechanic standing behind Jak. "Listen, I got a project I was hoping you could help me out with. There's a zoomer parked out back that I was hoping you could get up and running for me." He started, pointing to the back door over his shoulder.

Jak frowned. "Come on, Dax, she just got here."

"No, it's ok. I'll go take a look. What kind off zoomer is it?" She asked as she made her way around to the other side of the bar.

Daxter jumped down from the counter top, scampering over to Keira's feet. "It's a cruiser _(1)_. I found a gun mod that I want attached to the handlebars if you got the time; kind of like the ones on the old Krimson Guard zoomers. I have it stored in the backroom right now."

"You just can't make my job easy, can you?" Keira asked playfully, tapping Daxter with the toe of her boot.

"Need some help?"

Keira smiled and nodded to Zaacha. "Sure. Come on."

With a bright smile, Zaacha raced to the other side of the bar, following Keira and Daxter out the back door to the afore mentioned zoomer.

Torn glanced over at Jak, taking another sip of his drink. "So, how long have you and Keira been going out?"

Jak rubbed his chin, running his fingers over his growing goatee. "Around a year, now." He admitted, sounding surprised himself at the time.

Torn lifted his bushy eyebrows, nodding. "Long time."

Jak nodded slowly. "Yeah, sure is." There was a lull in the already pressed conversation before Jak looked over suspiciously. "You're not thinking of trying to take her, are you?" He asked angrily, his eyes darkening furiously.

Torn shook his head feverishly. "No no no no no, not that. Just curious, man." He said hurriedly.

Jak eyed him warily before going back to the mug in front of him, taking a sip of the mystery liquid. The hero frowned as he smelled the unique aroma emanating from the metallic mug. "I don't even think Daxter knows what he put in this." He muttered under his breath before turning his attention back to the pressed conversation. "What about you and Ashelin? Anything going on there?"

Torn gulped down the rest of his bottle. "There's nothing going on, not that it's any of your business." He said coldly.

Jak shrugged. "Sorry." He said, though he didn't sound very sincere.

Torn glanced over at the hero, grabbing at topics to keep the uneasy silence at bay. "Was it wise to leave two mechanics alone outside with a zoomer?"

Jak chuckled, his light mood returning. "It's fine, Daxter will keep an eye on-"

The loud roar of an engine interrupted the dull conversation again, complete with a few muffled shouts. The back door slammed open as Keira and Daxter dashed inside. "Jak, does Sig have his communicator on?" Keira asked hurriedly.

Jak blinked. "He should, why?" He asked worriedly. "Is Zaacha ok?"

Daxter chuckled nervously. "She's fine, for now. But once Sig hears that she took off on that zoomer outside and was headed towards the Metalhead KG Bot sector, I doubt that'll last long."

Jak cursed and whipped out his communicator, pounding in Sig's code number. Torn groaned and let his head fall onto the countertop. That kid was more trouble than she was worth.

1 :: Zoomers that look a little like modern-day motorcycles.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Shalom and welcome, dear friends. Shout out to **Bandit-sama, BlueIrish, Nostalgic Beauty,** and **Aries28**.As always, much love to my beta – Aries28, you rock my socks! The little purple button at the very bottom of the page really does work, so you should press it and leave me a nice little review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read now.

Zaacha wiped a bead of sweat away from her eyes, the drop drying as the wind whipped past her. Shoving an ammunition pack into the gun had grabbed from the back room while Keira was install while fixing the complicated gears beneath the zoomer, Zaacha pressed her foot down on the throttle, zipping past a small pile of dying Stingers _(1)_. "They just keep coming." She murmured to herself, pushing in the trigger of the gun down with her thumb, hoping to clear a small path through the incoming Grunts _(2)_. The narrowest of paths appeared as she sped past, the sides of the cruiser scraping against the sides of more Grunts, her boots and bare legs catching and tearing as a few claws strayed into their paths. The zoomer swerved, the back end skidding over the edge of the thin trail to hang over the oozing green slime that sat stagnant in the canal separating the sector. Zaacha bit back a scream and kicked the zoomer one gear higher, thrusting the throttle to full. The engine screeched and took off, taking its clunky metal body along for the ride. The navy-haired girl sighed in relief and looked over her shoulder at the stinking ditch.

A shimmer of light broke the stale air, and the purple trail of a hidden Sling Blaster _(3)_ came shooting across that sky, coming down just behind the tail end of the zoomer. Zaacha's stormy eyes went wide as the zoomer swerved again, completing a one-hundred and eighty degree turn to face where the offensive volley had sprouted. She glared, watching the metalhead carefully calculate where its next shot should land, hoping to add its own mark to her growing scrapes and gashes. Punching the throttle, Zaacha sped off towards the scheming metalhead, holding down the trigger of her gun. With a sickening crunch, a bullet shell pierced the Sling Blaster's thick hide, hitting what the best scientists of the time could only speculate was a vital organ. Zaacha grinned and took her finger off the trigger, abruptly halting the assault on the dead, slightly smoking metalhead.

A sudden bolt of electricity jumped through the zoomer, blowing out the engine with a loud pop. The cruiser shook and then plummeted to the grimy metal floor, spinning and screeching as it ground to a halt a few feet from the wall that enclosed the Metalheads from the port. She winced as the back end of the zoomer hit the wall, jarring her just enough to make her hand release the gun, sending it flying away from her. Zaacha put her head in her hand, her eyesight blurred slightly from the current that went through her, when she heard the deep throaty chuckle of her enemy.

A Juice Goon _(4)_ lead the oncoming assault of metalheads, all of them licking their thin, scaly lips with blackened tongues with their eyes trained hungrily on the trapped girl. Zaacha bit her lip, her eyes wide with fear. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea." She said to herself as the crowd loomed closer. A single Grunt raced ahead at the last minute, lunging excitedly at the cornered prey with a hoarse roar. Zaacha squeezed her eyes shut, lifting her arms to cover her head as if it would save her from the certain doom that loomed ahead of her.

But Doom got distracted by something along the way again.

A loud kablam rang through the air, accompanied by a collective shriek of pain. Zaacha cautiously opened one eye, peeking out from over her arms. A giant black spot marred the metal ground where the crowd of metalheads once walked, a few random limbs now raining from the sky in a shower of dark blue blood. Zaacha winced and wiped away a speck of blood that fell on her cheek, stinging as it mingled with the semi-dry cut that cut across her skin.

"Hey there sweetness. What are you doing out here all by your lonesome?" Zaacha blinked and looked up at the scruffy Havenite that was standing nearby. A cigar clamped firmly between his teeth and his hair tied back in an almost-slick ponytail, he would have been intimidating but for his nasally voice. "You're not supposed to go into Metalhead turf without a few hundred explosives. That little gun of yours wasn't going to get you anywhere fast." He chuckled while yanking a communicator from the pockets of his patched pants, shaking it a bit before typing in a call code.

"What's up?" Jak's familiar voice carried from the speaker, distorted by static.

"Hey there, Jacky. I got your girl. I'm taking her back right now." The man said around his impossibly wide cigar, letting loose a puff of sickening smoke after he finished his sentence.

"Is she ok?"

The man chuckled again. "Don't get your panties in a bunch, pretty boy. She's fine. A little scratched up, but not in bad shape."

Zaacha heard a sigh of relief from the other end of the communicator, a twang of guilt pulling at her heartstrings. "Great. Thanks Jinx. We'll see you and Zaacha back at the Naughty Ottsel in a few minutes."

"Later." Jinx ended the call, stuffing the communicator back into his pocket. His cigar slipped down his lip, a glimmer of smoke rising out of the ashy tip. His dark sapphire eyes flickered through the haze. "So, you're Zaacha, huh?"

Zaacha lifted an eyebrow, resting her un-scraped hand on her thin belt nonchalantly. "And you are?"

He grinned, or appeared to grin, Zaacha really could be sure. He reached up, taking the fat cigar between two gloved fingers and tapping it over the edge of the canal. "The name's Jinx. The explosive genius."

Zaacha blinked. "Explosive genius?" She lowered her palm from her hip, leaving it limp by her side. "Then you . . . that was you back there?"

"It wasn't the Easter Bunny, sweetheart." He said sarcastically, stuffing the end of the putrid cigar back between his teeth as he turned away. "We'd better get going before more metalheads show up."

"Going?" Zaacha asked stupidly, making a quick detour to retrieve her gun before falling into a slow step behind her savior.

"You didn't think we'd stay here and have a picnic, did you?" Jinx glanced over his shoulder. "Pick up the pace, we're moving out yesterday."

Zaacha jumped a little, speeding up to catch up with Jinx. "So, um . . . how'd you find me?"

Jinx chuckled as he clamored over the passenger seat of his flyer _(5)_ and into the pilot seat. "Not that hard to figure out. Jak does the same thing. Metalheads take priority, KG bots come second, no matter what." The "explosive genius" glanced at the girl climbing into the side seat, chewing on the damp end of his cigar. "So, I need to ask. Why take off like that? I mean, going into metalhead territory with no explosives and no back up. Not the smartest thing you could do." He finished with another small snigger, revving the engine of the zoomer and taking off at a break-neck speed.

Zaacha blushed a little, not noticing the wind whipping around her, or the bomb casings rolling around her feet. "I wanted to prove to him that I could help." She sighed, her chin falling against her collar. "Guess I screwed that up, though."

Jinx shrugged, swerving around a pillar that sprouted in the center of what was once a path. "We all screw up sometimes. But there's a difference between some one who screws up and a screw-up. If you ignore your mistake and keep running back into the same brick wall, then you're just a friggin' screw-up. But if you learn from it, then you're all right." Jinx glanced down at his passenger in the side carriage, her legs dusted with gunpowder from his unfinished explosives. "Don't worry about it, sweet cheeks."

Zaacha blinked and flicked a pinch of gunpowder off her knees. "Yeah. I guess so." A smile graced her lips for the first time since she Jinx met the not-usually-so-serious girl. "He's going to be pretty mad at me though. That's the second time in twenty-four hours I could have been killed."

Jinx blinked. "You going for a record?"

"Not at first, but I might as well at this point." She said with a laugh.

"Good luck, doll face. Jak's up to eleven."

Zaacha whistled, the note almost immediately lost in the rushing wind. "Wow, eleven. That's a little out of my reach."

Jinx puffed on his cigar, drawing the gray ash closer to his lips. "Well, eleven of what he claims are life-threatening situations. Pretty-boy probably counted the time he fell into the port when he punched the throttle too hard on his zoomer, trying to show off for Keira."

A snort of laughter caught in Zaacha's throat as the flyer passed over the smudged border between the two sectors. "He did what?"

"What, you didn't hear that?"

She shook her head. "No. What else has he done?"

Jinx rolled his eyes. "Don't get me started. He thinks the world is ending if he has a bad hair day. I mean, he goes through a tub of hair gel every day."

"Oh, does he now?"

The zoomer slowed slightly, the large, decapitated ottsel _(6)_ looming over the not-so-distant horizon. "I could tell you so many stories –"

"Zaacha, get out of that zoomer now!" A booming voice shook the metal shell of the flyer, rattling the empty cartridges around Zaacha's boots.

She winced as Jinx stopped the vehicle, scurrying over the seat. "I guess he's here." She muttered.

Jinx nodded from behind her, taking a slightly smashed cigar from his pocket before extinguishing his rapidly shrinking cancer stick. "And he doesn't sound too happy, either." He glanced at the steaming Sig and lit up. "If you live through this, you'll be up to three."

1 :: Scorpion-like metalheads that scurry around on foot and jump up to attack with the stinger attached at the tail.

2 :: Four-legged metalheads that run head first into an attack without thinking.

3 :: The tall metalheads that use sling shots to throw projectiles over a long range of distance.

4 :: The hunched, heavy metalheads who carry around staffs that shoot red electric currents.

5 :: The two-seater zoomers that are often used in group-transport missions in Jak II.

6 :: The ottsel sign looses its head after the missile-dodging mission in Act 2 of Jak 3.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Shalom and welcome, dear friends. Shout out to **Bandit-sama, Hold on Hero, Nostalgic Beauty,** and **Aries28**.As always, much love to my beta – Aries28, you rock my socks! The little purple button at the very bottom of the page really does work, so you should press it and leave me a nice little review. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Anyway, I'll shut up and let you read now.

"Ok, so it was stupid. I agree. But I took out a good amount of metalheads while I was in there." Zaacha tried to defend herself.

"I told you to stay here." Sig said between clenched teeth, his fists balled at his side, quivering slightly.

Zaacha nodded. "That you did. And I did stay here - for a while. You also told me to help Keira. I did that, too. I made sure the zoomer worked properly."

"Oh yeah, where is my zoomer?" Daxter asked from the counter, forgetting that he was supposed to be staying out of the "discussion".

"Um, it didn't exactly make it back." Zaacha said, rubbing the back of her neck with a gloved hand.

"What? But, but it was going to look so cool when it was done." Daxter griped, his eyes wide.

Jinx smirked, tapping the edge of his cigar to rid it of ash. "Some things came up. And the engine got blown into tiny pieces."

Before Daxter could start wining, Zaacha cut in. "You know, those zoomers really can't take a hit. In Spargus, we have these engines that are so suped up that-"

"Zaacha, you're missing the point." Sig interjected, throwing a glare over his shoulder at the ottsel. "And stop distracting her." Daxter gulped and scampered down the counter, plopping down next to Tess in hopes that she would sympathize with him. Sig returned his gaze to Zaacha, his foot tapping loudly against the metal-platted floor.

"Look, I know you're mad, but-"

"Mad? I've gone past mad, Zaacha. This is the second time in one day that you could have gotten yourself killed. Why won't you just listen to me?" Sig asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Zaacha stood up straight, her eyes focused into his. "Because you don't treat me like I'm part of the group. I can fight, drive, and work just as hard as any other Spargan. But you won't let me. If I don't have your support, then who can I rely on, Sig?"

"This isn't about me or what you can and can't do. This is about what I'm going to do with you after you broke every rule in the Spargus Handbook."

Zaacha blinked. "We don't have a handbook."

Sig glared. "Not the point, Zaacha." He sighed and massaged his temples. "I hate to do this, but you don't give me much choice. You obviously can't stay here."

"Well you can't send me back home. Jak already told you that the transports are down. So what are you going to do?" Zaacha shot back, crossing her arms over her chest, resting against the wall.

"Taking you as far away from the trouble spots as possible. And keeping you under constant supervision." Sig said simply, moving his hands away from his forehead so he could see.

Zaacha fell forward, her mouth agape. "What?" She snapped her mouth shut, the corner quirking up in a cautiously triumphant smirk. "You can't do that. You wouldn't. You need all the men you can get to finish this up and get home."

"Who said anything about our guys?" Sig smiled as Zaacha's face plummeted to the floor. "Obviously you've been pampered in one way or another. So a change of scenery might do you good. Jak will take you to Freedom League HQ. Ashelin, Samos, and Odin can keep their eyes on you while we do our thing out here."

Zaacha narrowed her eyes dangerously. "You wouldn't . . ."

"Try me."

"Jak would never just drop me somewhere I didn't want to be." She looked around Sig, her eyes finding the hero in question. "Right, Jak?"

Jak held up his hands, Keira snickering behind him. "Don't get me involved in this."

Sig ignored her icy glare and moved between her and Jak. "You're not staying here. The security is too lax."

"This isn't some stronghold to keep me locked up in. I am a Spargan, and I'll fight whether you want me to or not." Zaacha ground out.

"You can't fight if you can't get to the battle."

"You can't keep me away from everything, Sig." She exclaimed.

Sig smirked. "That's where you're wrong."

Zaacha put her hands on her hips. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes you are." Sig said, his eye narrowed slightly.

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Enough." Torn's gruff voice interrupted the childish display. Every eye in the room turned towards the brunette. "_I'll_ take her to HQ." He said tiredly.

Sig brightened considerably as Zaacha's world crumbled around her. "Great. When are you leaving?"

"As soon as possible; I can't stand this constant bickering anymore." Torn said, draining the last dregs of liquid from the inside of his beer bottle. Setting it down heavily on the counter, Torn pushed himself up from his seat and walked over to the pair, his hand reaching towards Zaacha's wrist.

Zaacha pulled away, her eyes still narrowed slightly. "You're going to leave me? With Havenites? All alone?" She turned to Sig, making her eyes wide and innocent. "But Sig, what if something happens? You can't abandon me."

Torn glowered at the azure-crowned girl, not falling for her wide-eyed stare. Sig, however, was not so lucky. "I know what you're doing." The Wastelander said slowly, "And damn you for making it work on me." He finished with a sigh. "Fine. We won't leave you alone with them." Zaacha perked up, a small smile splitting her lips. "But you still aren't staying here." Her smile faded, her eyes returning to their normal, slightly slanted state. "We'll send Saeth over with you. He'll keep an eye on you while you're over there, and report back to me when this is all over."

Zaacha pouted, her bottom lip jutting out the slightest bit. "That isn't exactly what I had in mind."

Sig shrugged. "That's the way it is." He nodded to Torn. "You ready?"

The brunette put a hand on his hip. "I didn't agree to baby-sit two Spargans." He said quietly, tapping the toe of his boot on the floor.

"He won't be a problem. Saeth knows how to follow orders." Zaacha snorted, but Sig ignored her. "He's just there for a little extra security."

Torn sighed, but nodded. "Fine, whatever. Is he waiting outside?"

"He's with the squad. I'll go get him." Sig walked out the door, not looking back at Zaacha once.

Zaacha frowned, her eyes focused on the door. "That did not go as well as I had hoped." She told no one in particular.

"Well, you did run off without permission." Jak pointed out.

"Never seemed to really bother him before, though." Zaacha said, watching the door out of the corner of her eye as she talked to the emerald-haired hero.

Jak nodded. "Yeah, but back then you were just running around the city. Not taking off in zoomers and rolling around shooting at things."

Zaacha glared at Jak, who calmly returned to his own drink while Keira talked to Daxter about the best way to salvage the giant Ottsel that sat broken atop the bar roof.

Torn ran a hand over his face, watching his vision blur and then clear again under his fingers. Like things weren't complicated enough.


End file.
